A hundred different memories
by Big Eater Queen
Summary: Memories shape a person's life. A hundred oneshots focusing on multiple nations and their experiences in their long lives. Mostly historically based!Hetalia Rated T for safety. Warning: the first chapter is the theme list. The one shots begin from chapter 2.
1. AN & themes list

Hey guys~!

So... Since I suffer frequent bouts of writers block and laziness and both combined (not necessarily in that order), I decided to take on this challenge that someone put up in DA. This also should serve as good practice for writing different characters as I'm gonna experiment a lot here. You might find the occasional ship but it'll be mostly (most probably) friendship / platonic love. I'll give you a warning if I do something like that so you can skip it if you want. I'm gonna try to keep any used historical events purely historical. I'm planning to avoid 2Ptalia and as much as it pains me to do so, Nyotalia. If I'm able to do this well enough, I might make one for the other universes. I'm open to using AUs though I'll try avoiding those too. The canon verse seems pretty wide and open as it is to me.

**EDIT:::**

I realized using Introduction for this meant that I would have a 99 themes fic and not a 100. 'Introduction' is the next chapter.

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><p>Here's the list I found in case you're interested in doing this. I'll mark each theme off with that nice bold 'X' whenever I finish one:<p>

[**X**] 001. Introduction

[**X**] 002. Love

[ ] 003. Light

[ ] 004. Dark

[ ] 005. Seeking Solace

[ ] 006. Break Away

[ ] 007. Heaven

[ ] 008. Innocence

[ ] 009. Drive

[ ] 010. Breathe Again

[ ] 011. Memory

[ ] 012. Insanity

[ ] 013. Misfortune

[ ] 014. Smile

[ ] 015. Silence

[ ] 016. Questioning

[ ] 017. Ow!

[ ] 018. Rainbow

[ ] 019. Grey

[ ] 020. Fortitude

[ ] 021. Vacation

[ ] 022. Mother Nature

[ ] 023. Cat

[ ] 024. No Time

[ ] 025. Trouble Lurking

[ ] 026. Tears

[ ] 027. Foreign

[ ] 028. Sorrow

[ ] 029. Happiness

[ ] 030. Under the Rain

[ ] 031. Flowers

[ ] 032. Night

[ ] 033. Expectations

[ ] 034. Stars

[ ] 035. Hold My Hand

[ ] 036. Precious Treasure

[ ] 037. Eyes

[ ] 038. Abandoned

[ ] 039. Dreams

[ ] 040. Rated

[ ] 041. Teamwork

[ ] 042. Standing Still

[ ] 043. Dying

[ ] 044. Two Roads

[ ] 045. Illusion

[ ] 046. Family

[ ] 047. Creation

[ ] 048. Childhood

[ ] 049. Stripes

[ ] 050. Breaking the Rules

[ ] 051. Sport

[ ] 052. Deep in Thought

[ ] 053. Keeping a Secret

[ ] 054. Tower

[ ] 055. Waiting

[ ] 056. Danger Ahead

[ ] 057. Sacrifice

[ ] 058. Kick in the Head

[ ] 059. No Way Out

[ ] 060. Rejection

[ ] 061. Fairy Tale

[ ] 062. Magic

[ ] 063. Do Not Disturb

[ ] 064. Multitasking

[ ] 065. Horror

[ ] 066. Traps

[ ] 067. Playing the Melody

[ ] 068. Hero

[ ] 069. Annoyance

[ ] 070. 67%

[ ] 071. Obsession

[ ] 072. Mischief Managed

[ ] 073. I Can't

[ ] 074. Are You Challenging Me?

[ ] 075. Mirror

[ ] 076. Broken Pieces

[ ] 077. Test

[ ] 078. Drink

[ ] 079. Starvation

[ ] 080. Words

[ ] 081. Pen and Paper

[ ] 082. Can You Hear Me?

[ ] 083. Heal

[ ] 084. Out Cold

[ ] 085. Spiral

[ ] 086. Seeing Red

[ ] 087. Food

[ ] 088. Pain

[ ] 089. Through the Fire

[ ] 090. Triangle

[ ] 091. Drowning

[ ] 092. All That I Have

[ ] 093. Give Up

[ ] 094. Last Hope

[ ] 095. Advertisement

[ ] 096. In the Storm

[ ] 097. Safety First

[ ] 098. Puzzle

[ ] 099. Solitude

[ ] 100. Relaxation


	2. 001 - Introduction

**001 - Introduction.**

**Characters: Romano, multiple others.**

**Warnings: Maybe some Spamano if you squint at the end. I intended it to platonic but you can take it how you want.**

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><p>Meetings. No matter how insignificant they seem, each and every one of them holds importance. Whether it is a first-and-last time, the start of a long friendship, or an intense enmity, each meeting you have with another person has an impact on you. It may be how that person dresses, it may be how they talk. But even so, it makes an impression on you. Whether you hate the person or love them at first sight, it all stems from your first meeting.<p>

And of course, when you meet someone, the first words that pass your lips will be the introduction. While the meeting is easily remembered, the way an introduction is said is forgotten by most. Few will often remember how they made fools out of themselves but those memories fade very easily.

But not Italy Romano. He would never forget the day he met his younger brother. Even though it took a very long time for their official meeting. He remembered every time they met and every single introduction that was voiced...

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><p>It was around the beginning of the fourteenth century that his Rome Nonna dumped him in the southern farmlands and rushed North to care for 'another young one'. Romano was still a young child who had complete faith in his big and strong Nonna. He believed that he would one day go all the way to Rome City and take his rightful place beside the mighty Roman Empire in caring for the country. How the little child dreamed of that day!<p>

He blended in with the locals, picked up their way of talking and behaviour, always waiting. A century passed by. Then another. Slowly, but surely, a Kingdom, The Kingdom of Naples grew in the southern region of the land. And as the kingdom grew, Romano's faith in his grandfather lessened. One day, he felt his grandfather pass away and he threw the last of his faith away.

All the while, news of an unusual period known as 'La Rinascita' or The Renaissance came from the north. The tales people told of the beautiful art and style of the northerners irked Romano. The tales of the city of Venice in particular made him see red. No one knew why. In fact, _he himself_ had no idea. All he knew was that he held a strong hatred for Venice.

In order to solve the strange riddle of his emotions he went on a solitary scouting mission to Venice. The ruler didn't notice his absence. After all, as child Romano would go outside for days, sometimes weeks, travelling all over the kingdom, studying its lands and people. He did this sequence as often as possible, a small hope in his heart that he would care for the whole of the country one day.

He travelled the longest journey he had ever undertaken in his life. From Naples to Venice, the whole distance by cart. Once he had crossed the border of the Kingdom, he felt a small lurch in his heart. In that instant, he knew that he was no longer in his territory. He peeped over the back of the cart and watched the boundary fade into the distance until it was no more. Huffing, he turned himself the right way around and settled in his seat. It was a long journey to Venice and he needed all the rest he could get if he was going to explore a foreign city.

Romano was rudely jolted awake by the cart driver who screamed at him for hitchhiking in the cart.

"Well fuck you you damn coin eating bastard!" He screamed back, made a rude gesture with his hands and jumped out without a care. Yes, Romano had a potty mouth way before Spain's arrival in his life. In fact, I'm pretty sure he swore more as a child than as an adult... No really! Compare his two Hatafutte Parades and you'll understand!

_Che. Rome is far more amazing than this dumb place. _He though angrily. Venice couldn't even compare to the city of his heart! All those story tellers must have been blind.

Romano wandered around the pathways of Venice in silence. The rich clothes of the people made him feel more like a beggar than a personification and he hugged his cloak even tighter over his body. He rounded a corner and found a strange scene in front of him.

"I'll give you as much as you want." A wealthy man held out a little bag to a small figure in front of him. Romano couldn't see the face of the child. After the child opened it up, a heavenly smell wafted over. Romano's stomach growled a bit and his mouth began to water. It was then that he realised that he hadn't eaten a bite of food. He cast a fearful glance in the direction of the people but thankfully, they didn't notice him.

The child munched on the sweets he got from the weird bastard. Yes, Romano just came up with that name on the spot. He bent down and spoke in a very I'm-gonna-butter-you-up tone.

"Now would you consider it?"

After a few more munches, the child spoke up again.

"No means no!"

_Could he be..._

"Alright!" Romano heard a voice cry out from the other side of the path. He and the two other people stared in it's direction. All he could see was a cloaked figure around his height run off.

"Hey! Stop!" The weird bastard yelled and scrambled after it. The child tried running after him.

"Ah wait- Oof!" He/She stumbled over, white robes all over the place. "Uwaa! It hurts!"

Romano shook his head and turned to leave. Then the smell of the sweets wafted over again. His stomach growled again, louder this time.

"Ve? Who's there?" The child looked in his direction. Romano cursed lightly under his breath and would have kept walking... If that amazing smell hadn't wafted over again. As if commanding him, his stomach growled again, making him turn around. Giving in to his hunger, he turned around and stomped over to the brat who was trying to get up.

"Get up dammit." He mumbled and stuck his hand out.

"Ah! Grazie!" The kid grabbed onto his hand and got up. He dusted his white robes. Romano couldn't take his eyes of his face. The kid's hair was a bit lighter than his and his eyes seemed to be glued shut but even so... There was the telltale curl on the side of his head.

"What's your name?" He chirped. "I'm Italy! Italy Veneziano! Want some sweets?"

This time, Romano couldn't believe his ears. On instinct, he reached out and pulled on the curl bobbing up and down on 'Italy's' head.

"Wha- what are you doing?" The lookalike's face turned a bright red and he began panting. Romano promptly released the curl. That reaction was enough proof for him. His brain processed everything very fast. Way too fast. He whirled around ran out of Venice. He jumped into the back of a cart heading to Naples and went straight home. Years later, he would always try to make up excuses as to why he ran off but he knew why.

He was afraid of what the existence of this other 'Italy' meant for him. Once he returned to Naples, he threw himself into his nation duties with great vigour, surprising everyone. He was determined to grow big and strong and become the true Italy.

At least there was peace... Until the invasions began.

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><p>Screams rang out through the city. Romano tried to flee but wherever he ran, the road was blocked off.<p>

_Screw this._ He thought and scrambled up to the rooftops and sat down. "Now no damn bastard can catch- CHIGII!"

A hand gripped his shoulder and an accented voice purred in his ear. "Well, it seems I've got me a new toy." Creepy perverted laughter followed.

"Chigi! Get off!" Romano screamed and wriggled out of his captor's grip.

"Not so fast!" The hand grabbed onto his -forbidden- curl. Romano went limp at the feelings and images that flashed through his head and blacked out.

When he came to, he learnt that his assailant was none other than France and the only valuable he carried around, the gold coin his grandfather had once given him, was gone. The North was outraged by the 'Sack of Naples' as everyone was calling it. The Republic of Venice in particular was enraged and formed an alliance with other northern kingdoms to keep the French out. It looked like that other Italy had a spine. Romano wasn't sure how to respond to his actions.

Another first meeting he would never forget, this time with the so called country of love and fashion.

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><p>It was the 18th century. Yet another country stepped in to meddle with Italy's affairs. This time, the effects and frustrating associations were long lasting. Romano scowled up at the huge figure standing over him.<p>

"Hola pequeño!" The tanned man flashed a bright grin at him.

"Shut up bastard!" Romano kicked him as hard as he could. The tall man laughed at his attempts to fight him.

"You're still a child. You can't stand up to me, the kingdom of passion yet! I can't believe that stingy old Austria decided to give you to me!"

"I wasn't given to anyone least of all to you bastard!" Romano yelled.

"Oh we're going to have so much fun together pequeño!" The weird guy began to slip into a cozy dreamland.

"Stop that!" Romano screamed.

"Stop what?" The man knelt down and looked at Romano straight in the eyes. Romano noticed that they were the most beautiful shade of green. He pinched himself to bring himself back to the current situation. The man continued looking at him with puzzlement. He even looked a bit... Crestfallen?

"Stop calling me weird things in your stupid language bastard!" Much to the little nation's bafflement, the guy threw his head and laughed heartily.

"Chigii! It's not funny dammit!" He blushed angrily and his scowl deepened. The man fell over and began rolling over the ground.

"I'm sorry!" The man finally said as he wiped a few tears away from his eyes. "I didn't realise that calling you a Little One would offend you so much."

"Then why the hell are you laughing?"

"It because I didn't know your name silly!" He gently poked Romano's forehead. Romano swatted his finger away. For a second, the grown man looked like a child who couldn't play outside because it was raining. Then his strange sad expression was replaced by his usual cheerful aura.

"Are you hungry?"

"No!" Romano said too hastily but his stomach had other ideas. The man's eyes sparkled when he heard the loud growl.

"Here. Eat this." He held out a shiny red fruit to the young nation. The latter carefully took it in his hands, as if it would explode. He held himself from biting into it as long as he could. Finally, unable to restrain himself, he took a tentative bite.

It was love at first taste. Romano hungrily devoured the rest of the fruit.

"How's the tomate pequeño?"

"Don't call me that you bastard." Romano grumbled.

"Okay. Guess I'll go first then! I'm the Kingdom of Passion, Espagña! Ah, but you can call me boss kay?"

_Like hell I will_. He thought but he only mumbled one word aloud.

"Romano."

"Hmm?" Spain smiled.

"My name's Romano." He said a bit clearly this time. His face turned slightly red with embarrassment. A huge, happy grin spread across Spain's face and he lifted Romano up and spun around.

"Romano! My cute henchman's name is Romano!" He laughed.

"Hey! I'm not your henchman!" Romano tried to protest but the estatic spaniard paid no heed and made sure that Romano was comfortably seated on his shoulders. Romano felt his eyes close and he slowly laid his head on top of Spain's curly brown locks. It had been a long day and he was tired. Before long, he was sleeping peacefully as Spain carried him all the way home.

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><p><strong>Historical notes:<strong>

**The Sack of Naples:**

**Charles VIII sent envoys to the town and the castle of Naples to seek a surrender of the Neapolitan garrison. The garrison killed and mutilated the envoys and sent the bodies back to the French lines. This enraged the French army so that they reduced the castle in the town with blistering artillery fire on February 9, 1495 and stormed the fort, killing everyone inside. This was the famous "Sack of Naples." News of the French Army's sack of Naples provoked a reaction among the city-states of Northern Italy and the League of Venice was formed on March 31, 1495. The Leauge of Venice was dedicated to exclusively stopping further French raids.**

**(gotten from Wikipedia)**

**AN: Romano is a character I find myself able to write very well. I just thought I'd make him the focus of the first one shot of this fic. Random, I know. Also, I'm not sure if all my oneshots will be this long. It just ended this way. My personal word count is at least 1K words. Also, I think I went off theme... *sweatdrops***

**Next time on a hundred memories, Love**


	3. 002 - Love

**002 - Love**

**Characters: France**

**Warning: For god's sake, France is NOT a rapist! Just a huge pervert at worst! If I see one joke or statement about that, I will blow you up! I SWEAR ON MY HETALIAN PRIDE!**

**Phew!**

**That warning was for my temper guys. ^^'**

**Also, I've never written romance ever before so all critique is welcome!**

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><p>Francis Bonnefroy, the personification of France, navigated the streets of Paris with ease. The people manning the shops smiled and greeted him happily in French. He smiled a tired and watery smile and reciprocated their actions and words. Many ladies (and gents) swooned yet again at the sight of his handsome figure. The occasional tourist who wasn't having their nose buried in an enormous guidebook would stop whatever they were doing and gape at him, unable to understand how such a perfect looking man could exist.<p>

The mildly amused natives who were now used to this sudden arrow from Cupid's bow striking unwary hearts, would continue with their own business until they snapped out of their own world. Every single one of these people would later fantasise about a future with 'Le Gorgeous' man but none of those feelings would last for long. None of them truly deserved a man like him anyway. No one noticed the sadness in his eyes, the usually hidden pain that showed itself in brief flashes or his slightly slumped shoulders.

Francis would usually flirt openly with every other passing lady and give a little seductive wink to every gent, taking pleasure in watching their reactions. Being bisexual by nature meant that there no restrictions for him. Even though he played up well to his role as an extreme flirt, he always found himself exhausted at the end of the day. Teasing the other nations was fun but it meant more energy was required as he had to dodge Elizavéta's frying pan a lot.

On this particular day, his routine on the streets exhausted him far more than usual. He ignored all the young men and women! True, he was tired for had a very hard time in the world meeting held at Germany's place. True, he had good fun with his friends Gilbert and Antonio but there are only so many times one can get hit with a frying pan before getting tired. Trying to break the tension in that room was hard enough.

He shook off his depressing thoughts as he sat on one of the banks of the Seine. He always loved the Seine. A young couple on the opposite side caught his attention. In the light of the setting sun, he could make out the figures of the two youngsters all over each other.

Francis got up and left the couple alone. Everywhere he went after that, The Eiffel Tower, The Arc D'Triumph, he could see couples all too eager to spend their time in the capital of his homeland, Paris. He finally threw himself into an empty park bench. He closed his eyes and made attempts at calming his breathing.

Every year, he would pray to some unknown God, begging that the country most frequented by lovers would change. But no, every year it was France at the top of that damned list. Stupid polls and surveys. Of course, all the results gave him his title; 'The Country of Love'.

How he hated that title. He felt so unfit of it and for good reason. Back in his younger days, he had separated the most innocent pair of lovers that existed from each other. The most pure and young love that had ever been recorded in the chronicles of the Earth was shattered by him.

Now you're probably wondering where this melancholy side of Francis came from. The truth is that he doesn't usually feel this way, openly at least. It was all because of the particular date of the year that this day fell on.

August 5. The next day of would be a day of mourning for Italy and nearly all the Germanic countries - minus Germany.

The reason?

August 6 was the anniversary of the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. To the people living all over the globe, it was just another day. But to the older nations it was a day of sadness. To Francis, it was a day where he remembered the greatest crime he had ever committed in his long life as a nation. The day he ended up forcing the breaking a promise between two young children.

Memories flashed through his mind's eye as he slipped into a light slumber.

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><p><em>"It's over." France said bitterly as he stood over a small, doubled over figure. "It's better for you to surrender now. The war is over. Your time is over. Go home."<em>

_"Nein. It's too late for me... As you said, my time is over." The small blond boy who was called by the name Holy Roman Empire whispered weakly. "Hey France?"_

_"Quoi?" Francis turned his head slightly away. He had no desire to take in the pathetic state that his opponent was in and gloat over it. Even so, his eyes were still looking at the young child._

_"Please... Tell her... Tell Italy to forgive me." A drop ran down his grime-streaked face. Then another. Whether they were tears or sweat, Francis did not know. Turning back and looking down at the child, something twisted inside him._

_"Why?" A feeling of dread formed as another two drops fell. This time, Francis noticed that they had fallen from his eyes._

_"I couldn't keep my promise..." He whispered and his body shuddered. After that, not a word passed through his lips and his chest no longer rose._

_"..." France bent down slowly and stretched out a hand but before he could touch the body, it turned to dust and slowly floated away with the wind. Not even the bones were left. His throat turned dry. He turned and found Austria and Prussia standing not too far off. What he saw shocked him._

_Austria was crying silent tears. At a first glance, he looked as composed as possible but France noticed that his clenched fists were shaking violently. Prussia had one hand on Austria, no, Roderich's shoulder, his face expressionless. Francis thought he saw a flash of hate flash through his eyes but it disappeared too fast for him to be sure. _

_Unable to hold himself back, Roderich pulled himself away from Gilbert, ran forward and grabbed Francis by his coat._

_"How could you?" He spat. "He was just a young boy! What of us? The people who love him? He is a part of my family! My family you hear me?" Francis remained silent as the Austrian screamed at him. He let go and collapsed on the ground, sobbing. Gilbert was at the ready and he wrapped an arm around the pianist's shoulders. He looked up and the look he gave France was so filled with pain and anger that Francis felt tears forming. This time, they formed with the threat of falling. His throat burned as if acid was coming up it and he wanted to cry his heart out. But he remained strong and didn't._

_A few years later, he visited Italy -who was all grown up- and had a talk with him. He had the honest intention to pass on HRE's last words but he found himself saying something else altogether. He suggested that it would be better for Italy to forget his first love._

_The discussion ended with Italy breaking down and screaming his lungs out at Francis. Needless to say, the two of them avoided each other as much as possible after that. They met again, many years later in World War One as allies._

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><p>Francis opened his eyes slowly and discovered that the sun had completely set and the crescent moon was steadily rising higher and higher. Dark clouds moved across the sky and obscured the stars and moon completely. He had an urge to talk about this with someone as he listlessly got up. After that, he just let his feet carry him wherever they wanted to go. Before long, he found himself in a cab. Francis mumbled something without registering what he said. The cab driver nodded and nearly two hours later, he found himself standing in the Place du Vieux-Marché of Rouen. Naturally, he walked straight towards the cross just outside the church standing in the centre of the square.<p>

"_Bon soir_ Jeanne." He smiled weakly as he gazed at the cross.

"Its been a while _non_? You know Jeanne... I'm not worthy of spreading the _amour_ after all... Ah! You probably don't understand what I'm talking about! _Mon lumière_, I have a confession..." And so, Francis poured out his tale.

"_Mon lumière_, I don't know what to do anymore... Am I really worth love? Everyone, even _Anglettere_ whom I've known longest; hates me. I think _Inde_ has a term for this... _Karma_ I think... _Oui_. Karma. This is my Karma isn't it? Everyone hating me, getting the title of love..." Francis was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realize that he was sinking towards the ground. The sky remained dark and over cast. After centuries of trying to have a smile on his face, hiding his feelings, he finally let the tears fall. And they fell.

The clouds moved across the sky and the first silvers of moonlight fell on the cross. In a miraculous moment, a girl stepped out from behind the cross. Her short hair was cropped close to her face and she wore a simple, long sleeved white dress. If one was to get a look at her through the corner of their eyes, they would realise that she was translucent. Even though France couldn't see her she smiled sadly at him. She crouched down slowly and wrapped her see-through arms around him carefully, careful not to pass through him.

They say that the mere presence of the dead make one feel cold but Francis felt an unexplainable warmth form inside him. The tears fell even harder and he had no control over them. Jeanne -yes, the spirit of Jeanne D'Arc- whispered into his ear and stroked his hair reassuringly even though the Nation could neither hear nor feel her.

"Francis, no one is unworthy of love. No matter how evil or hurtful their actions are, love is for all. Don't despise your status as the nation of love. Only you are worthy of it." A lump formed in her throat but she managed to to choke her next words out as tears rolled down her face.

"I- I saw you being held back when I, When... I was burned. Only you know the true value of Love and how precious it is. That is why Francis..."

Francis bent his head forward, perhaps on instinct, perhaps by fluke but he was now almost resting his head on Jeanne's translucent shoulder, missing by a few inches. A small shiver ran through the spirit's body and her breath hitched in her throat. She soon recovered and began to silently gaze at her beloved.

A small smile graced her lips as she took in all the changes in his appearance. When she was alive, they were around the same height, his hair was a bit shorter and his eyes were more of a bluish colour. Now he had grown taller than her, his blond hair was long enough to be pulled into a ponytail and his eyes were a striking violet. She finally bent forward and her lips hovered a millimeter above his head. His eyes were closed as he prayed for forgiveness.

"... That is why only you can truly understand what it feels like to be without that special someone and help those lonely hearts." The moon began to come even further out of the clouds, it's light highlighting Francis' blond hair. Jeanne's smile reappeared as she pulled herself back.

"Besides, it seems that you are not hated in the least." A phone vibrated twice in Francis' pocket, once in the beat of 'Canaidian please' and the second to the beat of 'God save the Queen', stirring him out of his stagnancy. He slowly raised his head and his eyes widened.

"Jeanne?" He whispered. Jeanne felt her feelings bubble up inside her and before she knew it, her arms were thrown around his neck and she was brushing her lips against his. A long missed warmth spread through her body. She didn't understand why he was suddenly able to see him but she didn't care.

Francis found himself unable to believe his eyes on seeing his beloved but the feeling of Jeanne's lips on his own were very real. He closed his eyes and trusted everything to his sense of touch and feeling. He felt Jeanne's cool arms wrapped around his neck and he slowly wrapped his warm arms around her waist, careful not to apply too much pressure in fear that she would dissolve into smoke.

The two lovers sat there on the ground, locked in a passionate kiss. In it were all the feelings that they had been unable to express in the past centuries, warmth pulsing through her body and chill ness spreading through his. Finally Jeanne broke away. Francis let her go. He knew when she needed her air even though she was a spirit. He let her go for a moment only though. One second later, he tried to pull her back in but she pushed her hands out, stopping him.

"Why?" He frowned, unable to understand her actions. She shook her head sadly.

"I have to go now Francis." A small tear fell down her cheek.

"You can't! Please Jeanne, don't go! I can't live without you!" Tears ran down his own face. Again, she shook her head.

"Francis." She said slowly. "This will be the last time we meet-"

"Non!" He yelled. "I won't let it be so! I will die if neede- Ouch!" He rubbed his head after Jeanne managed to smack him somehow.

"It's a good thing we can touch each other now. Even though I still can't understand why." She murmured as she stared at her own hands in wonder.

"Jeanne!" Francis pouted. "What was that for?"

"Oh yes." A frown appeared on her face and she began scolding him. "How many times do you have to run? Claiming you will die if this is the last time we meet. Don't be stupid! Whatever it is, you have a responsibility to the people! You can't die just for me! Stand and fight life like a man already! If life gives you lemons, make lemonade! This is why- Don't laugh!" France had begun to chuckle but at the spirit's exasperated exclamation, it grew into full blown laughter. "Francis!" She waved her hands around.

"Désolé!" He wiped away his tears, smiling. "I missed this."

Jeanne blushed and smiled back at him. "Me too."

They both remained silent, gazing up at the night sky. France spoke first. "Do you have to go?"

"Oui. I don't have a choice."

"Then why were you here for so long? Why to you have to pass on now?"

Jeanne's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Apparently _Angleterre's_ witch claim has some power over spirits." The disgust in her voice did not go unnoticed.

"You still hate Angleterre?" He wondered if Jeanne still wanted to beat the Englishman black and blue. He did mock the French army for being led by a woman.

"Hate is a strong word." He looked at her incredulously but she didn't notice. "It's more of an intense dislike now."

"But an intense dislike is nothing but hate non?"

They laughed together even though they didn't find the joke very funny. They found it more than enough to be in each other's company. When they finally stopped laughing, Francis' face grew serious again. Jeanne gently touched his shoulder.

"We will meet again." She said softly.

"But when? How will I know it's you?"

"You will know. You will know..." She whispered softly and his eyes fluttered shut. Opening his eyes with a jolt, he realized that he couldn't feel her hand anymore. He looked around him but there was no sign of her. He found himself kneeling in front of her cross. He slowly got to his feet and looked around again. His mind insisted that he had been dreaming but his heart said otherwise. The moon peeked out of the clouds again and and on impulse, he flipped his cellphone open. He discovered missed calls and texts from two people.

The first was Mattheiu and the second was Arthur. Both were reminding him that the entire family - including Alfred- had all agreed to go out that day. Arthur was particularly insistent on his coming.

Francis looked up to the sky and he felt as though the moon was encouraging him to go.

"I guess I'll be going then. Au revoir Jeanne." He addressed the cross, turned around and started walking. It was a long way to England. A shimmering, ghostly figure watched his retreating form.

"Well," Jeanne stretched her arms. "As much as I dislike him, I suppose I must go see if Angleterre had anything to do with today."

At that very moment, a short, bushy eyebrowed man sneezed in a house in the suburbs of London.

"Do you have a cold Iggy?" A blond man with a cowlick peered through his glasses.

"No you git! And don't call me Iggy!" The short man snapped. He carefully slipped a scry ing glass into his pocket. Another blond, this one with a curly hair sticking out silently noticed his actions and smiled.

"I hope Papa comes soon~!" He said.

"Of course er-"

"-Who are you again?"

"I'm Matthew!"

"Mattheiu! Mon petit soleil!"

"P-papa?"

"Yo France! When did you get here?"

"Just un moment ago~ Group hug!"

"Get off me you frog!"

"England..."

"What?"

"Do you really want to be called mom?"

"Hell no!"

"Then..."

"Fine! Get off me... Francis."

"Ah? Did I just hear you say something Anglettere? Honhon!"

"No! Shut up!"

They left the house bickering merrily.

Jeanne was right in saying that Francis wasn't hated. He had his family who loved him very much indeed, each with their own ways of showing it.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N;<strong>

**Have I ever mentioned that Jeanne D'Arc is my favourite historical figure before? No? Well, now you know.**

**Seeing that historically, France was the one do deal the final blow to HRE, I imagine he would be somewhat gloomy about being the country of love. And in a way, Italy would blame him for HRE's death.**

** Don't shoot me down for making it FrancexJeanne please! I know most of you readers might support a certain major ship *cough*FrUk*cough* but for me, if it's France and love, it has to be with Jeanne.**

**I also imagine Jeanne and Francis to have a comedic-tragic relationship. France is also the European country with the worst military history. So, I imagine him acting a little melodramatic when desperate. Since Jeanne is a very strong willed woman, I see her getting mad at her country/loved one whenever he acts like that and scolding him.**

**Next time, on A Hundred Memories: Light. **

**This is hard... I'm gonna have to brainstorm for this one... Suggestions are more than welcome! Historical events please?**


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